Early
by Wild Magelet
Summary: After a fight with Remus and a work assignment gone haywire, Tonks is at the end of her tether. Oneshot RemusTonks.


**A/N:** Originally written for a challenge on LiveJournal.

**Disclaimer:** Most characters, places and spells belong to J.K. Rowling.

The clock struck twelve as the curse hit Tonks squarely in the chest. As if she needed confirmation that the bastards were early. Her legs immediately locked and she tumbled to the ground, her cheekbone doing its damndest to smash through an iron grate. Agony tore through the momentary numbness and she couldn't hold back her groan. The joints in her knees and ankles immediately began to swell under the influence of the hex, stretching and cracking beneath her flesh. With the possible exception of her left pinky finger, every part of her body hurt like hell. The ground was wet and smelled like oil, but the liquid pooling into her eye was very likely blood. Her jeans were damp, her top was torn and she was freezing. And it was bloody well supposed to be her night off. Perfectly good takeaway was congealing on her kitchen counter while she flopped about on dirty concrete like a dying fish.

Damn the Ministry, damn all smugglers and triple-damn Dawlish and his piddling cough! If "one happens to be prone to infections" then _one _shouldn't have trained as an Auror in the first place. He was probably out drinking, Tonks reckoned. He was probably shaking his rear in some seedy nightclub at that very moment. There was a frightening thought and a half. Shacklebolt, who could also go to the special place reserved for people who ruined her night off, had sworn that this would be a straightforward operation. She was reconnaissance only. According to their source in Knockturn Alley, a meeting between illegal traders had been set for two am; her orders detailed preliminary surveillance at midnight, before returning to Headquarters and remaining on-call as reserve backup. Which everyone knew meant a year-old copy of the _Quibbler_, a chocolate biscuit and a kip in the staffroom.

But one half of the smuggling circuit had shown up early. They were early, Dawlish was faking a cold and, instead of sulking at home with unhealthy quantities of ice cream, she was bleeding into unconsciousness in a stinking alleyway.

Remus was going to kill her.

Of course, he'd have to get in line behind the pissed-off blonde with the wand.

Shiny black boots appeared in Tonks's line of vision and she squinted painfully at their pointed toes. For the shortest second on record, she wondered vaguely where she could find a similar pair, before catching herself and wincing. This was about the worst possible time for delirium to set in. Keeping her torso completely still, she concentrated on silently stretching and shrinking the bones in her legs. The process didn't exactly lessen her general discomfort, particularly when she was busting a gut trying to keep it inconspicuous, but it was the only way she knew to wear off an immobility curse. At least, without going for her wand holster and inciting the blonde's wrath again. She knew from experience that taking the Cruciatus full in the face was, if at all possible, something to be avoided. And, judging by the scowl and the wand in front of Tonks's nose, the cow was just waiting for the opportunity.

Her assailant had fallen to a graceful crouch, bare forearms resting on her knees, dark robes billowing about her. The moonlight reflected behind her head, turning the smooth fall of hair into a skein of silver and casting an odd sheen into her pale malevolent gaze. Crimson lips parted in a sneer, revealing a brief flash of teeth. The tip of the wand touched gently to Tonks's forehead, before stroking down her cheek in a disturbing caress.

"I wonder," the creature mused, twirling the instrument around her fingers. "Street urchin?" The tickle of the wood moved down Tonks's neck and began to slowly circle her throat. The movement was almost lulling, but she felt her body tense in reaction, waiting. With sudden violence, the wand was withdrawn and red talons seized her wrist, lifting her hand to examine the calloused knuckles and clean nails. "Or a poorly trained Ministry pet, perhaps?"

A quiver of motion passed through Tonks's knee and she tried to keep her face blank. _Almost. _Ignoring the pinching grasp on her arm, she lay perfectly still and let the first tingle of feeling return to her legs. At her continued silence, the blonde compressed her full mouth and deliberately curled her fingers, drawing blood from already abused skin. A sharp command, uttered without turning her head, brought her oafish sidekicks lumbering closer. Tonks barely restrained her eye-roll as the Crabbe and Goyle look-alikes shuffled their feet. She blamed the sudden outburst of the alley cat symphony for this predicament. Having the bejeebers scared out of her had roughly coincided with the smuggling femme fatale's appearance on the scene, and shot nerves did nothing to enhance reflexes. If those horny bloody strays had kept their eerie mating calls to themselves, this would never have happened. And if she thought for a moment that she couldn't take these three, she'd quit tomorrow and knit socks for a living. It was actually embarrassing. She was – almost – glad that no one from the Department was there to witness it.

Although if the Auror contingent had also set their watches fast tonight, she wouldn't complain too loudly.

"Vincent!" The leader of the mismatched trio, whose pretty head was going to be in serious jeopardy in another ten seconds, had a soft, musical voice. Tonks wasn't fooled. The woman had 'harpy' written all over her. Given the expression creeping onto First Lackey's dull-witted features, he apparently shared her sentiments. Merlin. Her whole body was one exposed, painful nerve, screaming for release. With darkness flitting at the corners of her mind, she got the feeling that her pained limbs weren't fussed as to whether that release came in the guise of a nap or something more permanent and unfortunate. If the meeting time had been moved forward two hours, it was likely to be the latter, as she was in eminent danger of being found prostrate by the scarier half of the transaction. And, despite all that, she was still indecently amused by the entire situation.

She hoped she wasn't about to get hysterical just yet. If she couldn't hit something during an outburst, things could get pretty dicey. Besides, she observed, eyeing her company scathingly, if anyone was likely to burst into girlish screams around here, it wasn't the women. Neither of the oversized underlings appeared quite sure where they _were_, let alone what dodgy duties they were supposed to be undertaking. Tonks suddenly looked closer, her gaze widening.

Bloody hell… It _was_ Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle looked a bit thinner than when she'd last seen him at Hogwarts; obviously acting as a dark magic dogsbody didn't buy as many Chocolate Frogs as it used to. Crabbe looked more stupid than usual, although that seemed unlikely and was probably a trick of the moon. She sighed, feeling any shred of respect she'd had for the annoying blonde fade. Draco had clung to his enormous boyfriends because nobody else was thick enough to go near him. And they were big enough to deter most of the people waiting to flatten the little sod's nose. But actually taking _Crabbe_ and _Goyle_ into paid employment… She listened calmly as the bubblehead in charge gave veiled instructions for her incarceration and probable torture. Goyle chewed his lower lip and scratched himself in places that Tonks didn't want to know about. Crabbe wore the vaguely constipated expression of someone who sensed a thought coming and wasn't quite prepared for it.

"And this, kids, is why you should finish school," she muttered under her breath, and the blonde turned to glare at her. The disconcerting watery eyes narrowed on her hair and, with a start, Tonks realized that she'd been running a little free with the morphing. The strand of hair stuck to the blood on her cheek was a definite blue before her blurred vision. It was supposed to be black. Subtle. Camouflaged. She wanted to kick herself for that giveaway, and would have done so if she'd had full use of her motor skills. With an angry exclamation, her leggy companion rose to a formidable height and swirled her capes back.

"_Metamorphmagi_." Her voice oozed undiluted revulsion. Which seemed a bit cheeky for someone who traded body parts and noxious fluids for a living. Tonks's temper flared, and the pins and needles stabbed more viciously into her thighs. Incapacitated or not, she was done with the dead haddock impression. Gritting her teeth, she swung back her heavy left leg and slammed her work boot into the blonde's shapely shin. A long screech of rage and a quick hook around the ankle later, and their positions were reversed. The wand fell from her opponent's fingers, which were grasping in the vicinity of Tonks's throat, and she kicked it away, leveling her own.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she snapped, adjusting her stance in an attempt to hide the quivering state of her knees. The blonde's white face stared up at her in frozen fury. "_Incarcerous_." The rope-binding spell, which the trio could have used themselves if they had more than a single wit to fight over, activated immediately, wrapping its victim in a tight cocoon. Tonks retrieved the fallen wand and pocketed it, snorting. "Poorly trained, my arse," she retorted, casting the pile of rope a haughty glance. "_Vampires_."

The blonde sneered again, a hint of fang protruding through her lips, but being trussed like a pig for the market tended to ruin the effect. Tonks brandished her wand threateningly and looked around, wondering if it was worth restraining Crabbe and Goyle. Aside from the randy tabbies, the alleyway was empty.

"Well, what do you know," she murmured, accidentally stepping on a red-nailed hand and not feeling in the least bad about it. "Shit for brains, but a sense of self-preservation. Who would have thought? Maybe not the best idea, hiring Death-Eater material for odd jobs," she advised the blonde conversationally. "They're easy to boss around, but they run like rats in a crisis."

"If you're done giving the perp career advice," said a new voice from the street junction, "we should take her in. That bastard sneak sold out for higher profit and leaked us false info. We caught wind of the new deal about ten minutes ago. Picked up the other three on the next road over. Are you going to be sick?" Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted himself, peering at her in concern.

"No," croaked Tonks, blood pounding in her forehead. She promptly proved herself wrong, all over the disgusted blonde, and had just enough time to feel smug about it before unconsciousness swept in. Shacklebolt sprang forward, but wasn't in time to catch her as she fell onto her back. Her head connected with the brickwork once more, but she felt no pain this time. Her lashes closed over the sight of the full moon, hanging in a thick, purple sky.

&&&&&

She awoke to an unwanted pressure on her aching head and the acrid smell of the overly clean. The bed beneath her questing hands was about as comfortable as the average wood floor and, given the unsympathetic fingers prodding her wounds, she could only suppose that she'd been brought to a hospital. Or possibly a torture chamber. There was often little to distinguish the two. The sadist gave an unnecessarily vicious poke and she grunted crossly, trying to open her eyes and receiving a blinding glimpse of whiteness for her trouble. A no-nonsense voice came from the mist above, so close that she could feel warm breath fanning her cheek.

"If you're going to make a fuss, young lady, then I might suggest you refrain from hurling yourself into immovable surfaces in the future. And stop squirming, please. It makes no difference to me where these sutures go, but I imagine you'd rather I _didn't _stitch your right eye shut. If I accidentally catch your mouth, of course, we needn't worry."

She blinked furiously, and the outline of a female face slowly appeared. The Healer set down her wand and smiled. She was a relatively young woman, handsomely attractive rather than pretty, with a strongly carved jaw and sweeping forehead. She also wasn't a bit familiar, which was surprising to Tonks, who thought she'd given business to the entire staff of St. Mungo's by now.

"Any dizziness? Nausea?" the woman asked, peering into her eyes, apparently looking for signs of permanent damage. It was the sort of close scrutiny that had always made Tonks want to giggle. The stabbing pain in her head saved her from the embarrassment.

"No. I've got a bitch of a headache, but that's it. Did you say stitches?" she asked suddenly, reaching to gingerly touch her face.

The Healer knocked her hand away, and frowned.

"Don't unpick my handiwork, if you please. That's guaranteed scar-free embroidery. The cut on your cheek was clean, but wide. I could have used a spell, but you'd be running the risk of deep-tissue infection. As it is, you'll have to match your outfits around a bandage for a couple of weeks, but it shouldn't leave a mark. I'll prescribe you a good Wound Mesh cream to take home. Dab on a little each morning and before you go to bed. It'll keep the edges neat."

Tonks nodded and sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the side of the awful mattress. "I can go home, then?"

"Ideally I ought to keep you here for a day or two." The Healer picked up her chart and rifled through the pages. "But we've been stretched for beds since last week's attack and, fortunately for you, Nymphadora, you seem to possess a strong constitution and a hard head."

Tonks ignored that last comment and nodded somberly. The Death Eaters had upped the ante last week, launching a massive offensive on a wizarding university. "Right. You would be. And it's Tonks, actually," she added, out of sheer habit.

She was barely spared a glance in return. "Yes, I have your information. Nymphadora Tonks."

"Nobody uses my first name," Tonks explained vaguely.

Well, to be fair, one person did use her first name. But he only got away with it by being supremely impressive in the sack. Her lips twitched momentarily, before memory and soberness set in. Bugger. Mission complete, face sewn back together, and it was back to her laughable excuse for a life. Remus would probably sleep for the next twenty-four hours, but they'd have to pick up where they'd left off sometime. Renewed anger and frustration began to bubble in her stomach, and she scrunched a handful of the starchy white sheets, digging her nails into the palm of her hand.

"Nonsense," said the Healer, turning a page crisply. "Nicknames are for children and people who lack the mental capacity to remember multiple syllables. We must deal with the hands we are dealt in this life and make the best of things." She looked up then, quirking a brow. "And if I can make the best of a name like Euridiphite, then you can certainly shoulder the far more appealing label of Nymphadora."

Tonks blinked.

"Stop wrinkling my sheets and take a few deep breaths," the other woman ordered. "Man troubles, I don't doubt. I recognize that look. But increasing your blood pressure until you pass out isn't going to do anybody any good. To start with, we don't have the space, and you may believe me when I say that you wouldn't care for the menu." She closed the chart abruptly. "There don't appear to be any ill effects from the immobilization curse and it seems you've been lucky enough to escape with a mild concussion. Your blood pressure is a little higher than it should be in one of your age and fitness level, however, so I'm going to order another screening of your samples before I discharge you."

Tonks lay back on the lumpy pillow, letting out a deep huff of air. She hated hospitals and always had. On the other hand, she was no longer eager to return to an empty flat when a second confrontation with Remus was drawing closer.

"Okay."

The Healer paused at the door, and an emotion approaching concern fleetingly touched her features.

"Is there anyone you'd like me to contact?"

Tonks turned her head and stared out the small, round window. It was still dark outside, the moon lending a silver tint to the golden glow in the lamp-lit room.

"No," she said, finally. "There's no one."

&&&&&

The sun was shining weakly in a humid, overcast sky by the time she Apparated into their building. Digging in her holster, she hastily retrieved her wand and performed a non-verbal on the door locks. The nearest neighbour was the sort of loony person who got up at dawn to go jogging. As she was sporting a face like someone who'd come home from a bar brawl, Tonks had no intention of lingering in the hallway and risking a chance meeting. The other residents thought she was weird enough already.

She closed the door behind her and locked it firmly, standing motionless for a moment. She'd been on automation since leaving the hospital, but a sickening sense of panic was beginning to unfurl in her midsection. Looking down, she realized that her hands were shaking visibly and, swallowing hard, she stuffed them into her pockets.

Shit. She'd really buggered things up this time. Shit, shit – "_Shit!_" Her mental swearing burst into a vocal screech as a figure appeared in the shadows of the bedroom doorway. The drapes were still pulled and the flat dimly lit. With her heart jerking about in her throat, it took a horrible few seconds before she recognized the person with the murderous scowl.

"_Remus_." Tonks held onto her throat with one hand, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. "What the fu… You're lucky I didn't hex you into next bloody week!"

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" His voice was quiet and tight. It was that very appearance of control that caused Tonks to pause in her tirade. She'd heard those level tones only a couple of times in the past, and it always spelt a crisis. The shaking in her fingers spread through her torso and into her legs. Folding her arms tightly across her chest, she stared at him tensely. On the morning following a full moon, even after a hefty dose of Wolfsbane, Remus ought to be comatose and sleeping off the effects. She'd _never_ seen him this soon after the sunrise. If hysteria hadn't been clawing at her throat, waiting for a release, she would have been unable to hide her shock. He looked dreadful. Half-dead, was the description that immediately came to mind. Fresh lines and scratches stood out on his pale face and the haggard grey skin stretched tightly over his lean frame lent him an oddly shrunken appearance. Tonks knotted her fists together, fighting the urge to touch him. To give comfort.

"You scared the shit out of me," she complained, her teeth beginning to clatter despite the warmth of the room. She couldn't understand why he was there and she didn't want to try. She couldn't _think_. A hundred different emotions were swirling inside her – shock, anger, bitterness, _fear_ – but her skin felt cold, her body numb.

What was she going to do? _Merlin, help._

"Good," Remus said harshly. She could hear the heaviness of his breathing, keeping time with the thumping of her heart. "Now you understand how it feels."

She stared at him mutely, her face blank, and he swore between stiff lips.

"Where have you been?" he bit out, glaring at the bandage covering her cheek. "What happened? Are you all right?" There was genuine, albeit reluctant, anxiety in his words.

"I had to go into work," Tonks said flatly. She stared vaguely at the door to the kitchen, wondering if she'd bought new teabags. "You knew I was on-call."

"Then leave a bloody note!" Remus snapped, his control breaking and volume rising. Taking an unsteady step back, he rubbed a palm over his gaunt face. He was shaking as badly as she was, Tonks realized distantly.

"Sit down before you fall down," she said, a tinge crossly. "You should be in bed." Forcing her quivering legs into motion, she headed into the kitchen. It was like trying to walk through setting cement.

Remus followed her, watching in disbelief as she peered into the cupboard and began rifling through tins.

"What are you doing?"

"I want tea." Correction – she _craved _tea. It was supposed to be good for shocks, wasn't it? Frankly, she'd prefer a stiff shot of firewhisky, but tea was probably her best bet.

The sound of a fist slamming down on the counter made her jump, and she swung around, startled.

"_What?_" she hissed, feeling something shift within. Fury and fear were beginning to overcome frozen shock.

"You're looking for _tea_?" Remus all but snarled. "Merlin, Tonks…" He closed his eyes briefly, before pinning her with an intense, angry gaze. "Are we going to talk about this?"

_No_.

Turning her back, Tonks located the new box of teabags and banged it down. With quick, vicious movements, she found a mug and swished her wand in the direction of the kettle, which immediately begun to steam.

She knew how it felt.

"Fine," Remus concurred roughly, and she waited for him to leave. Instead he continued, barely hiding the undercurrent of ferocity in his polite address. "I'll talk, then, shall I?" He studiously ignored her blatant lack of interest. "During a particularly hellish night, I was suddenly hit by a strong conviction that you were in trouble. Being rather incapacitated, I was unable to do anything about it until sunrise. It's funny," he said, and he'd never sounded less amused. "I thought that transforming without the benefit of Wolfsbane was the worst form of torture. Apparently I was wrong. Being in command of my thoughts and sanity wasn't such a blessing last night and I thought I'd lose that control by morning. I've never been so scared in my life. I came home as soon as I was able," he said unevenly, "and there was no sign of you. No note, no explanation as to where you might have gone. I tried contacting you at the Ministry, but was told that your whereabouts were classified information."

"I told you I was on-call," Tonks repeated, clasping her drink between both hands and squeezing it tightly. A horrifying urge to cry was creeping up on her. That would just be the pinnacle of a truly hideous forty-eight hours. She sought refuge in her anger. "Where did you think I was?" She looked at him with a bitter sneer. "Out shagging another bloke?"

He blanched slightly and looked quickly down at his trembling fists. Speaking without looking at her, he had to clear his throat a few times, the words coming out dry and scratchy. "I'm sorry, Nymphadora. The accusations I made were completely out of line." His jaw clenched. "I'm prepared to accept full responsibility for the argument we had." It was an admission spoken with genuine regret, but, to Tonks in her current state of mind, it sounded unbearably pompous.

"Yeah?" she snapped. "Well, that's big of you." Stomping toward the table, her knees were so weak that she almost fell onto a dining chair. Staring straight ahead, she took an obnoxiously loud sip of tea.

Remus stayed where he was, leaning heavily on the counter. She darted a peek out of the corner of her eye and bit her lip at the sight of his white face. He must be keeping on his feet through sheer force of character, she thought, and the threat of tears returned with a vengeance.

"I never considered myself to be a jealous man," he said suddenly. "At Hogwarts, I admired James and Sirius for their popularity and their easygoing nature. I've never been able to view life like that, as a constant opportunity for enjoyment. Perhaps I envied them that optimism a little, but I never resented them for it. I've never allowed myself to indulge in jealous longing." He sighed, meeting her gaze. "I underestimated how insecure I could feel with you."

"The man in that picture was a visiting dignitary at the Ministry," Tonks said coolly. "He's happily married, is the worst kind of snob and barely spoke two words to me all day. Rita Skeeter is a trouble-stirring bitch. Which you know well enough." She stared fixedly into her tea. "You don't trust me."

"Yes, I do." Remus's reply was instant and implacable. "I do trust you, Nymphadora. What I don't trust is my incredible good fortune." His eyes were tender on her bruised face. "I've come to expect, and be grateful for, fleeting periods of happiness. These months with you have been a revelation. It's been hard to believe that it's _my_ happiness, my life. I keep expecting the worst."

Without warning, Tonks's misery boiled over and she burst into humiliating, unceremonious tears. She'd never been able to pull off the romantically tragic look while bawling, and quickly hid her face in her fingers.

"Nymphadora!" Remus was touching her shoulder, putting his arms around her in a weak hold. He sounded appalled. "Sweetheart…"

Pulling free, Tonks stood up and ignored his extended hands, gazing at him with wet, desperate eyes. She gave a harsh laugh, almost choking on her sobs. "Remus." His name was a cry for help; she winced at the pathetic, plaintive sound. He made a muted noise in his throat and reached for her again. She stumbled back. "Remus, I'm pregnant." The statement was loud and shocking in the quiet, dark room.

He went completely still. His eyes widened and his lips parted, but he didn't speak.

"Did you hear me?" Tonks's own voice was shrill. "I'm bloody well having a baby." She gestured wildly at the table and the half-full mug. "And if you ask if it's yours, I swear I'll empty that tea down your neck!"

At Remus's continued silence, Tonks burst into a stream of thick, panicked babble. "I didn't know. How did I not know? What kind of woman doesn't know? And I'm not supposed to morph while I'm pregnant, because it's dangerous, and I've done it a million times, and now our baby's probably broken and it'll be all my fault. And I'm not allowed to morph! So I won't be able to work, because without that, I'm shite. And it means _this_ for _seven months_." She seized a handful of pale brown hair and pulled at it painfully. "We're in the middle of a bloody war. I can barely manage my _own_ life. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to…" Tears blurred her vision and the words stuck in her mouth. Pressing both hands to her belly, she shook her head. "I can't do this. Remus, I can't do this."

She was pregnant. She, the least maternal person she knew, was growing a baby. The proof had been in her blood samples, the fact undeniable on her chart. She still couldn't process, couldn't think. It was too early in their relationship for this; they weren't that stable, the _two_ of them, yet. Too early. She almost laughed again. Hell. This had never been on the cards at all. They'd known that they would be a childless couple. Remus, she remembered sourly, hadn't exactly concealed his relief over that fact.

And he still wasn't saying anything.

Just as her temper began to whip itself up again, he moistened his lower lip with his tongue and said, pokerfaced, "I…I understood that most Metamorphmagi were unable to conceive children."

Well, of all the ruddy, emotionless…

"Most of them can't," Tonks said hotly, scowling at him. "But – shock - apparently I'm not normal. And you damn well aren't blaming me for this, Lupin. You told me that almost all werewolves are sterile. What the hell happened there? You're supposed to be shooting blanks. What do you have, super sperm or something?"

Remus's mouth twitched and her ire deepened. She was glad that _someone_ found this situation a hoot.

"This is _not_ funny. Do you know what the chances were of this happening? It's a bloody-"

"Miracle," he finished, and she looked at him sharply. Carefully, he slipped an arm under her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the door. "Come on. We both need to be in bed. I do realize it would be far more gallant to carry you," he told her lightly, "but, at this point, I have absolutely no faith in the state of my knees."

She couldn't read his tone, but he didn't sound angry. Surprised into losing her speech, Tonks let him steer her into their bedroom and seat her on the bed. He _had_ understood her, hadn't he? She watched as he tugged her boots off, tossing them into the corner before he joined her on the mattress and sighed with relief.

He turned to face her and she looked into his eyes. The whites were still blood-shot from his tormented night, the irises still darkened to a golden shade of amber. And they were impossibly gentle. His long, thin fingers moved to cup her face, his touch a butterfly caress on her swollen cheek before his left hand slid to stroke her loathed brown hair.

"You're a fantastic Auror, Nymphadora Tonks," he said firmly, his gaze intent. "Your many faces are just the beginning of your worth, as I'm sure your colleagues understand even if you can't believe it yourself."

A frown creased her brow and he tenderly wiped away the remaining traces of tears with his thumb. Leaning close, he brought his warm mouth down on hers, and her breath shuddered out. Gripping fistfuls of his shabby jumper, she kissed him back, desperate for the familiarity and comfort of his warmth. His lips moved across her nose and eyelids, rubbing against her jaw, nuzzling into her neck. Finally, they were still, holding each other, exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Remus lifted his head slowly, as if it were heavy on his neck, and let it rest against hers.

"We're having a baby," he said softly, and she scrunched her eyes shut.

"Yes."

His weight pushed her onto her back, and he came to rest over her, his face steady and serious. Tonks held her breath as he slowly tugged at her shirt, baring her stomach to the line of her bra. For long minutes, he looked down at her body in silence, before he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her navel. Confused and scared, and unhappy because of it, she almost asked tartly if he expected it to talk. But, watching him, she saw the expression on his face and felt the tickle of his graying hair against her skin. She could have sworn something moved inside, and an entirely different sort of lump lodged in her throat. Breathing deeply through her mouth, she brought an unsteady hand up to rest on his head.

They had made a baby.

Remus wrapped his arms around her hips, rolling them over on the mattress until she came to rest against his chest.

"Are you so unhappy about this?" he asked softly, picking up her hand and pushing his fingers through hers.

Tonks pressed her nose against his jaw, inhaling the smell of musk, and sweat, and _him_. "No," she said eventually, from her heart. "When the Healer told me, I felt a thousand different things at once." She squeezed his hand. "But all the good stuff came first."

"And you are all right, aren't you? The baby's healthy?"

"Yes, despite my best attempts to damage us both," she said, a little bitterly. "Remus, if I can't work for awhile…" She stopped; hating that, for the first time, their mutual lack of funds _was_ an issue.

He tensed for a moment, a flicker of self-disgust hardening his features, before he sighed in resignation. "This is bigger than my tattered pride. We have a few savings and we can cut expenses. We'll make do, sweetheart."

She chewed on her lip. "I appreciate this sudden turn of optimism, Remus," she said warily, "but I think we'll still need things like food and rent money."

"At least half of our combined earnings are supporting Horace Slughorn's sweet tooth and eye for overpriced antiques," Remus responded bluntly. "I survived full transformations for a very long time before the Wolfsbane Potion came about. I can do it again."

Tonks bolted upright, already shaking her head vehemently. "No. No bloody way. We'll cut back somewhere else. You're not going through that ordeal when you don't have to."

He offered her a slightly forced smile. "I admit that I'm entirely unacquainted with the mysteries of childbirth, Nymphadora, but I think it's your ordeal we ought to be worried about."

At the look on her face, he winced.

"Oh, bugger." She blinked at him, horrified. "I hadn't even thought about that part yet. Do…do you think it's as bad as they say?"

"No," he said immediately, his arm curving protectively around her back. "I'm sure it isn't. Molly tells me that women exaggerate a little, to ensure that we men are sufficiently respectful, and she, of all people, ought to know."

Tonks eyed him narrowly, a reluctant grin softening her mouth. "The scrupulous Professor Lupin, lying through his teeth. You must love me a lot."

Remus ran his thumb down her nose, in an oddly moving gesture. "To frightening depths." He smiled at her again. "And if it's the only way of easing your mind, I can lie with the best of them."

"You're having that potion."

"Nymphadora…"

"This baby needs its father in full working order, Remus. Every day, every month. Merlin knows, with me as its mother, it needs one normal parent."

Remus stroked her fingers. "If I'm the 'normal' half of the equation, this child is to be severely pitied." He raised her chin and kissed her. "I don't need the potion. Believe me, for a man who's just had his blessings in life doubled, it's a small price to pay."

"You really are happy about this," she said, not intending to sound quite so astonished, and a troubled look settled on his face.

"Did you think I'd be angry?" he asked slowly.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I couldn't even nail down my own reaction, let alone yours. But… we thought we wouldn't ever have children. And you can't tell me your reaction wasn't relief!" she accused, remembering.

Remus's chest rose and fell heavily beneath her body. "If the idea of endangering you with what I am – what I always will be – terrifies me, Nymphadora, then the possibility of hurting a child…" He rubbed his knuckles against her bare tummy. "But a hypothetical situation is very different from a real pregnancy. I've never felt so humble in my life. Or so ashamed of my lack of faith. Sometimes it takes a miracle to wake a man up." His jaw set. "But, make no mistake, we will be taking every precaution. I'll transform in captivity, far away from you both, and…"

"And, nothing," Tonks interrupted. She glared back at him. "You would never harm this baby, any more than you'd ever hurt me. If I didn't believe that, I'd be out that door right now." She was taken aback to realize it was the truth. Maybe she'd dig out that maternal instinct, after all. "And Horace Slughorn will be mixing that potion for free from now on."

He looked at her skeptically. "I don't doubt your immense powers of persuasion, my dear, but…"

"Slughorn's been buying illegal ingredients from Knockturn Alley dealers for months. If he doesn't want to find himself in the lock-up, he'll do us this tiny favour, and he'll do it gratefully."

Remus was clearly struggling between moral disapproval and a Marauder's admiration. The latter won out, as she'd known it would.

"You're a dangerous woman," he said, smiling, and she grinned.

"You'd better believe it. If it saves you from pain, Remus, I can blackmail with the best of them." A sudden wave of seriousness washed over her, and she gripped his hands. "We didn't plan for this…and I have to say it. It's a sodding awful time to be up the duff. We're nowhere near the end of all this yet. Anything could happen."

It was the constant fear at the back of her mind, in the pit of her stomach, in her every second of consciousness.

"And that is a possibility which keeps me awake at night," Remus acknowledged somberly. "But perhaps, somewhere along the way, I did pick up a drop of optimism." He lifted her hands, draping them around his neck, so that he could pull her closer. "Every minute of every day, there's a risk. The odds might be stacked a bit higher right now, but we have to take that chance," he murmured into her hair.

"People are going to freak." Tonks wrinkled her nose. "Molly's put a wartime baby ban on Bill and Fleur, did you know? Wish her luck with that one. Those two are probably bonking like bunnies."

"I'm not going near that observation." Remus sounded both amused and disturbed. "And Molly can utter as many disapproving comments as she likes. It's really none of her business." He rested his lips against her forehead. "You know she'll be delighted in the end. And, if we haven't yet done so, we'll just have to take a leaf out of Lily Potter's book."

"Die to protect our baby?" Tonks asked, a little warily. Apparently Remus's short supply of optimism had run dry. Merlin knew, she _would_; she felt no hesitation on that score. The circle of people she'd do anything to protect had already expanded a little. But that was on the list of last resorts, and was hardly the most comforting thing to say to a pregnant woman.

"_Fight_ to protect our _family_." Remus pulled her back down to the pillows. She could feel the quiver of fatigue in his muscles. "You and I." He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. "And Nymphadora Junior."

They both paused.

"Crikey." Tonks pulled a face. "You found the only name worse than Nymphadora. Didn't think it was possible."

"It's a lovely name," he protested loyally, before conceding. "Perhaps we'll put the name issue on hiatus."

"It's a boy, anyway," she said decisively. "In which case, saddling him with Nymphadora Junior would be especially cruel. Might as well alert the bullies now."

"A boy, huh?"

Tonks raised one eyebrow. "Shows up unexpectedly, at the most inconvenient time imaginable? This kid's on his own schedule. Definitely says male to me."

"Maternal intuition?"

Tonks gave him a superior look. "Female common sense."

"Ah!" Remus chuckled. "Well, allow me to exercise caution and retreat from this topic with a modicum of my masculine pride intact."

Her lashes were beginning to weigh down and Remus looked as knackered as she felt.

"Boy or girl, this baby is obviously determined to live its life," he said, after a couple of minutes of sleepy silence. He surveyed her through tired eyes. "Gutsy and stubborn as hell. He, or she, is going to take after their Mum."

Tonks laughed and nestled closer to him. "I like how you're already blaming me for our child's pig-headedness," she accused, around a yawn. Butting her nose into his neck, she squirmed into a comfortable position. "We deal with the hands we're dealt," she said, recalling the Healer's words.

"Hmm." Remus was already dozing. "I think we got a good hand this time."

Tonks cast a quick glance around their bedroom, the only one in their small flat. "Full house?" she teased.

"A child I never dared hope for and a life with the most beautiful woman in the world. Royal flush, without a doubt."

He was almost asleep and probably oblivious to what was coming out of his mouth, but she took the words to heart anyway. Usually, it took a bottle and a half of Rosmerta's finest before Remus was anything approaching sentimental. Tonks closed her eyes and lay still, one hand touching the complicated man she loved and the other curved over their baby.

She could only pray that their luck held for the rest of the game.


End file.
